


Fides Iustitia Sperare

by scifishipper



Category: Homeland
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifishipper/pseuds/scifishipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Faith Justice Hope: We are guided by the things we value most.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fides Iustitia Sperare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girl_called_sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_called_sun/gifts).



> For the prompt, "A moment of peace between Saul and Carrie." Spoilers through season 2.

 

 _Faith_  

Brody’s newly grown beard is damp as he walks up the steep trail towards the cabin. He is at peace, offering his praise to Allah, setting his mind free of his troubles for a little while. As he climbs, he matches his footsteps to the rhythm of the prayer in his mind, reaching for vines to pull him up a steep embankment. He moves close to the dimmed cabin, stepping quietly, his body alert for intruders. 

In a week, he has seen nothing move except the animals. For long hours he has watched the life in the trees, his day broken only by his meals and prayers. Sensing nothing, Brody shrugs off his jacket and settles into the wooden chair on the small porch overlooking the valley. The sun sets to the west, casting a pale light as a backdrop for the fringed tops of the evergreens. 

From his jeans, he pulls out the pocket knife from Carrie’s pack, a childhood gift, she told him, so out of place with the Glock and the cash and his fake identity. The knife is small and thin, covered in scratches, its blade sharp enough to strip bark and cut apples, but too short to really hurt someone. The gun, which he had kept by his side until yesterday, is laying on the table unused. He expects no one, save the woman who will take him to the fishing boat. His only worry is that she will not come, stopped by some unknown element that he cannot discover. In this, he has to trust Carrie; any venture away from the cabin could cost him everything.

The light fades and the trees fall into darkness as clouds move overhead. He has spent many nights thinking of his life, the choices he made for Nazir and Issa and later for his family. He feels weak and spent, his brief glimpse of peace destroyed by the bomb that exploded at Langley. He is bitter about being used by al-Qaeda, by Nazir even after his death. What he had willingly given had not been enough for his former captor. Nazir took more, almost as if he had known of Brody's eventual betrayal, preparing Roya and her crew to willingly sacrifice themselves to defeat the infidels.

Throughout his captivity, he bled for his sins, his birthplace, his beliefs, until he was drained, refilled instead by faith in a vengeful god seeking retribution. Still, in his daily prayers, he clings to that faith. He is not even sure why. He dare not defy it, even now, after they all have died.

_Allahu Akbar_

God is great.

 

 _Justice_  

Evening settles over Cathedral Heights, the buzz of traffic and honking of horns absent in the quiet D.C. neighborhood. Saul’s house looms behind Carrie, off-white and traditional with black shutters and red brick accents. She sips her wine and looks out over the garden, the healthy trees and wilted flowers. Mira had been the gardener, tending to her plants because her husband chased terrorists. 

Carrie isn’t surprised that Mira is returning from Mumbai to support Saul after the bombing. That’s the way of their relationship; Mira holds on as long as she can and then lets go, only to grab the ring again when Saul needs her. For years, theirs has been the best relationship she has seen. The CIA takes and gives without remorse, destroying families as it seeks to keep them intact by fighting a war with enemies who live in the shadows. Mira still loves him. But waiting…that is a game for a younger woman.

The patio door swings open behind her and she sees a grim-faced Saul carrying place settings to the table. He is deep in thought, and she meets his eyes for only a moment, giving a faint smile. The bombing lives all around them, bits and pieces of intelligence discussed and examined, slotted in their proper place until a pattern makes sense. Brody, the largest, most complicated piece of all, sits between them like a wall.

Carrie lies to him, grieves like a woman who's lost her love, protects Brody with an untruth that is surprisingly easy to tell. It fits, she realizes, into the slot where her bipolar lie used to live. She's lied to Saul for so long that it feels natural. She’s barely real sometimes, she thinks, a twittering ghost whose instincts hurt as much as help her day to day.

The kitchen door bangs quietly closed as Saul retreats into the house once more, leaving her standing alone next to the azalea tree. Many of its orange petals have fallen, leaving a soft covering on the bricks. It reminds her of the cabin, of her time with Brody at the lake. The memories are bittersweet, something captured and then lost, stolen by Nazir when they least expected it. Now, after a week apart, she still believes in Brody's innocence. Walden was his revenge for Issa, his promise kept without remorse. The bombing, though, the deaths of two hundred and eleven people? Brody couldn’t have done it. At the height of his resolve, he didn’t detonate his bomb, chose to spare himself and the others. Love, she has always known, is his weakness. 

When Saul appears again behind her, she gulps down most of her wine, hiding her thoughts as if he can see them. Unlike Saul, Carrie believes that Brody loves her. She saw him in that moment of doubt, covered in blood and shattered glass and she found his truth. It carries her now, seeking justice for his name, rescuing a family from disgrace. It's her only chance to get him back.

 

_Hope_

Saul drops the last of the vegetables in the pan and stirs. He feels lighter than he has in months, since before the Langley bombing, before Brody and Carrie and the rest of Nazir’s fucked up plan. He’s back home, not the empty husk of a failed marriage, but the warm, spice-filled place that he’s known for so many years.

The beans glisten as he turns them, their dull green brightening with heat and oil. It’s been ages since he cooked, since his kitchen smelled welcoming. He and Carrie, exhausted from nearly a week of sleepless nights, have retreated here for a meal. Behind them lay the rest of the unidentified remains from the bombing. He tries not to think of the destruction, how he missed it again. All of them. A colossal fuck up. 

He sees Carrie through the window, framed against the foliage of the azalea tree, drinking wine. He still wonders at her survival, how she laid unconscious from the blast for hours. Her survival is a miracle and Saul is a blessed man. 

The sauce is done and he lowers the heat to transfer pieces of spiced chicken onto plates with a heaping serving of rice. He opens and closes drawers until he finds the tongs and begins placing the green beans on the plates, arranging them as he has seen Mira do. He’s surprised, really, that he even remembers how she does it. It must be her presence, flying closer to their home that bolsters his memory. She’d laugh at the state of the kitchen, sauce splattered, detritus scattered on every counter. It makes him smile to think of her shaking her head as he rushes to clean the final bits away. 

With his plates ready, he spoons the sauce onto the meat, and picks them up, turning backwards at the door to push it open. Carrie turns at the sound and smiles at him, her face tired but calm. He watches as she folds herself into her chair and pours more wine. 

“Looks great, Saul. I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks.” Carrie drapes her napkin on her lap and picks up her fork to eat. This simple meal fills Saul with unexpected happiness. He almost lost her, not just to Brody’s bomb, but to the man himself, wooing her into betraying him and the CIA. Forgetting her devotion to her country in favor of a myth she constructed because it was more potent than the truth. 

“When does Mira fly in?” she asks, her mouth half-full of rice. 

“In a few hours,” he says, unable to keep a smile off his face. His beautiful Mira, who made an offer to return that he could not refuse. This time it will be different. He’ll make time, show her that he is devoted. He wants to try. 

The spice of the chicken leaves his tongue tingling, and he swallows down the rest of his beer. The meal has been a success, the simple pleasure of sitting with someone he loves, a calm before they go back to the horrors of Langley. Soon, they will have the answers and others can take over. He will be done, returning to the haven of his marriage, a life with Mira and a new post in India. 

For right now, however, he has everything he needs. Mira is returning. Carrie is more dedicated than ever. God and Country and everything else that matters.

Abu Nazir cannot take that away.

 


End file.
